Thursday, August 18, 2005

Five Phone Calls

It all starts with the friend from Former Town, who emails out of the blue. Big news, she says. No one will get this joke but you. I reach her at work, and her crisp, professional voice gives way to delicious, salt-caramel irony.

(I am walking toward my desk. Oh yes, the writing starts now.)

But, wait, there's a voicemail. Long distance friend's voice is a blurred photo of a dancing child. She is abruptly in motion, moving to Grand City for an academic job. Delighted, I call her up, to give congrats and get the details.

(Now there are emails to send, to put long-distance friend in touch with Grand City friend who will show her around. But, after that...)

Oops — I have to take this call. I have opened a box of childhood, and, draped inside, is the honey-wise voice of my old neighbor. She wants to talk about the pregnancy, so we do. We chat about her children and the difficulties of being twenty-three.

(Vet visit. Pre-natal yoga. And now there's the cat sitter at the door. Will she mind giving Geezer Cat his meds?)

Phone again: grad school friend, whose divorce is getting ugly. Yesterday, her voice was a three-legged turtle. Today, it is fragile sun-lit glass.

(I will write today. I will write. But how much are plane tickets to grad school friend's city?)

O telephone, the day is over. Wicked, witty sister-in-law calling. We haven't spoken since April.